The border of the Land of Fire.
The main road was a disaster zone of broken carriages and debris.
The sun baked the sticky puddles of blood on the ground, filling the air with a stench so thick it made you want to retch.
A dirty little beggar, looking like he'd rolled in mud for a week, looked down at a white-haired boy who was sitting on the ground, staring blankly into space.
Musashi Ryomiya scratched at the lice in his hair.
"Hey! Kid."
"You still alive?"
"..."
Getting no response, Musashi sighed softly.
A month ago, he had been a grad student with absolutely no future, confidently handing his thesis to his advisor.
His advisor had looked at him and said, "This paper poses zero threat to my academic status, but it is absolute garbage that will ruin my reputation. My rival works in this same field—put his name on it as the lead author instead."
Musashi was so enraged he literally died of a stroke that night.
When he woke up, he was an orphan, a refugee from the Hidden Leaf Village, wandering in exile.
The world of Naruto was way too dangerous. Slaughter and death weren't just plot points here; they were the daily routine.
Right now, his goal was simple: survive one day at a time until he could get back to the Hidden Leaf and make a killing.
If this white-haired kid hadn't been kind enough to give him a piece of dried bread a while back, Musashi wouldn't have bothered stopping.
He stepped forward and waved his hand in front of the boy's face. Finally, the boy's hollow eyes began to focus.
"Looks like the lights are on."
The boy's eyes slowly tracked over to Musashi, his brain finally rebooting.
"...It's you. You're that beggar from earlier today."
"Hey, that's pretty rude, kid," Musashi said, looking annoyed. "I might have been a beggar this morning, but right now... I'm the veteran here."
The veteran of the refugee trail, that is.
The corner of the boy's mouth twitched.
"Ugh... Uw... Waaaaah!~"
"Dead! My father is dead! They're all dead!"
Musashi frowned and covered his ears.
God, kids were loud.
He waited until the boy cried himself out of energy before speaking up. "Done crying? If you're done, let's go."
"But before you come with me, you need to clean yourself up. You can't go around looking like that."
"Looking like what?" The boy looked up with swollen, teary eyes at the beggar who was just as big as he was.
Musashi's face was so dirty you couldn't see his features, his clothes were basically rags held together by dirt, and he smelled like a sewer.
No matter how you looked at it, the boy was doing better than Musashi.
Before the boy could ask, a sinister laugh rang out from nearby.
"Heh heh heh... Looks like it's my lucky day! Found myself a couple of little prizes. Looks like Daddy's open for business! Bwahahaha!"
Musashi sighed helplessly.
Just his luck. Whatever you're afraid of is exactly what shows up.
He turned his head to see a tall, thin figure.
Dirty clothes and a chipped katana—the trademark look of a wandering Ronin.
The man was staring at the white-haired boy with a look of pure, predatory delight.
While the white-haired boy was still frozen in shock, Musashi was already moving.
Thud!
His knees hit the dirt with practiced speed and a loud impact. He buried his head deep into the ground.
"Oh, noble Samurai, sir! I'm just passing through!"
"Everything here, including this pretty-boy prince, is yours! It's all yours!"
"Please, enjoy yourself to the fullest!"
As he spoke, he shuffled his knees, scooting to the side as if terrified of interrupting the man's fun or offending him.
Behind him, the boy was horrified. (º言º)!
Watching the wandering samurai get closer, the boy realized something was very wrong. The perverted grin on the man's face made him shake uncontrollably.
Thwack!
The samurai casually stabbed his katana into the mud. His eyes lit up as his hands reached for the boy's collar, his face twisting in excitement.
The boy wanted to struggle, wanted to run, but his legs had turned to jelly. He couldn't summon an ounce of strength.
He couldn't help but cast a desperate, pleading look at the "little beggar" nearby.
But the beggar who had just promised to take him away was currently kneeling perfectly straight on the ground.
His head was bowed low, as if worshiping the samurai.
Is he kowtowing for mercy?
Even kneeling behind the man, where he wouldn't even be seen?
Despair washed over the boy as the samurai's manic laughter echoed in his ears.
"Don't worry, kid. Uncle is going to teach you a few things! Hahahaha!"
The intense body odor and bad breath made the boy dizzy. Amidst the loud laughter, the faint click of a spring mechanism went unheard.
Squelch!
The laughter cut off instantly.
A steel needle punched through the front of the samurai's throat. Blood began to drip slowly from the shiny silver tip.
"Gurgle... hack..."
The twisted joy in the man's eyes solidified into disbelief. He tried to turn his head to see where the attack came from, but all he heard was the wind.
Shnk!
Something sharp stabbed into the side of his neck.
Then, the blade began to saw back and forth inside the flesh, bringing a wave of agonizing pain.
Musashi's cold voice whispered in his ear.
"Doesn't feel so good when you're the one getting stuck, does it?"
There was no trace of the cowering beggar in Musashi's eyes now. His slightly red-rimmed eyes were filled with pure rage.
"Why... why can't you people just let us live?"
"Why... does everyone have to die?"
"Enjoy this, Samurai Lord."
The blade in his neck was draining his strength rapidly.
Survival instinct kicked in, and the samurai used the last of his energy to drive his elbow backward repeatedly.
He slammed into the small beggar behind him. Musashi grunted with every hit, but he didn't let go.
Muscle and sinew were slowly sawed apart. The samurai couldn't turn his head.
One slice, two slices, three... until the man's head was completely severed and tossed aside.
The smell of blood in the air grew heavier.
A smile of relief washed over the beggar's face.
"Welp, another beautiful day of staying alive!"
Two minutes later.
Musashi wiped the steel needle and kunai clean on the headless corpse and stowed them away.
He walked over to the white-haired boy and extended a right hand still stained with blood.
"I'm Musashi Ryomiya."
"You can call me Musashi. What's your name?"
"..."
"I... I'm Daiki. Nojiri Daiki! From the Hidden Leaf Village."
"You can call me Daiki... or whatever you want!"
"Hidden Leaf? Do you know the way?"
"I... I think so."
"Lead the way!"
---
One Month Later
On a small path in a dense forest, two dirty little figures were slowly moving along.
"Musashi, I'm starving to death! That fruit on the tree looks good. It's bright blue with patterns—it looks delicious."
"Go ahead and eat it. Once you're done, I'll chop down the tree, use it for firewood, and cremate you right here. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."
"Hey, hey, don't be so scary. Are you sure it's inedible?"
"Not sure. But if you eat it, you can help me find out."
"That green mushroom looks tasty. Should we try one?"
"Daiki, if you have a death wish, just tell me directly."
"..., but Musashi, if this keeps up, I really will starve to death!"
" serves you right. You're the one leading the way," Musashi retorted. "Are you sure this is the right path? This forest is so dense... there aren't any beasts, are there? If we meet a rogue ninja, we might survive, but if we run into a pack of wolves or a tiger, our youth ends right here."
"Relax, trust me! This is the exact road I took when I left the Hidden Leaf. It can't be wrong."
"Once we get through this path, the village won't be far. When we get there, I'm treating you to a feast!"
"Everything is on Lord Daiki's tab!"
Seeing Daiki's smug look, Musashi didn't argue.
He didn't have much energy left to talk anyway.
After a month on the run, both of them were covered in even more makeshift bandages.
The wounds came from poisonous bugs, traps, and strangers.
Living in constant danger had left him exhausted, both physically and mentally.
Daiki, on the other hand, was actually more spirited than when they first met.
A month ago, Daiki was a trembling wreck who did whatever he was told and was afraid to even speak loudly.
But after just a few days of survival life, he had stepped out of his grief and fear. Once he realized Musashi wasn't going to randomly slit his throat, he started getting comfortable.
His form of address went from "My Lord" to "Big Brother," and finally just "Musashi."
They survived by begging—Musashi took Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; Daiki took Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. If they got a lot, they walked further. If they got nothing, they went hungry.
The numbness of life on the run somehow made it less boring.
They walked a while longer on empty stomachs.
Finally, the view ahead began to open up.
Green trees, green grass, birds singing, and the scent of flowers.
The peaceful atmosphere was so jarring that Musashi felt like the hellscape of the last two months had been a hallucination.
Looking at the faintly familiar architecture in the distance, Musashi let out a long breath. "We're finally here... Konoha."
"Ah! I, Nojiri Daiki, have finally returned!"
Startled by the sudden scream next to his ear, Musashi watched as Daiki grabbed his hand and bolted forward like a hyperactive husky off its leash.